


my feet are frozen (and my heart’s on fire)

by fostertheshower



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Las Vegas Wedding, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fostertheshower/pseuds/fostertheshower
Summary: For all the things that Conrad was—a good captain, an excellent soldier, the honorable second son to a former queen, a terrible comedian—the one thing his king might have come close to resenting about him was that he was horrible at keeping gossip at bay.To be fair, that wasn’t actually his job. But that didn’t stop Yuuri giving him a few healthy doses of stink-eye when Celi asked him at dinner that evening, without segue or indeed any shred of compunction, “Have you and my darling Wolfram settled on a date yet?”Title from Baby Boom Baby by James Taylor.
Relationships: Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	1. everything you figured you're due

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I own nothing. I'm rediscovering my love for this anime, send help.

If Yuuri had to be perfectly honest, he left it alone largely because it felt like another fixture in his life.

“I’m from Japan.” “I have an older brother.” “I like baseball.” “I’m kinda-sorta engaged to a literal demon who looks like an angel.” The usual things that very normal people would say when asked to talk about themselves.

It probably helped that Yuuri wasn’t often asked to talk about himself in that way. Between a very laid-back political science degree program on Earth and actually running a kingdom, he didn’t give anyone much of a chance. If someone did manage to worm in a question, at 20, he’d become a master at brushing it off. 

He’d also learned, at 20, that you could only do that to one particular line of questioning for so long.

There was a time when he felt that the less said about his engagement, the better—not that his fiancé ever let that be a thing, really—but three things happened as his stays in the Great Demon Kingdom eventually got to the point where they lasted more than a couple of weeks, and consisted more of working and studying than attending this and that ball/banquet/grand opening. One was that people actually did say less, in a fashion; another was that the young lord in question was out completing his required military service, and communicated more through short letters than anything; the third was that Yuuri himself had changed, whether he knew it or not. The latter was more likely, even as he thought to himself that he should have scrapped the law that made _twelve whole months_ of military service compulsory in the first place.

_“Dearest Yuuri,_

__

__

_I hope you and all at the castle are well. It’s been warmer out here than usual. Lord Weller says that the climate is normally like this around this time in your Japan. For months on end, he said! Is this true? I don’t know how you stand it!”_

(His new attempts at empathizing out loud—decent ones, though, on most counts—made Yuuri smile.)

_“I am very nearly halfway through my stint in this fort; I know it initially made no sense to you, for me to choose to be stationed so far into the von Christ territories, but I thought the lakes would help me with the seasickness. You understand; you always do, in the end. (And if you don’t, I’ll just make you.)_

__

__

_I will be returning in a month from the day you receive this letter; not to be terribly forward, but I do hope you will be there to receive me._

_Yours,_

__

__

_W”_

The addressee set this latest letter down for what felt like the hundredth time that morning since Conrad had delivered it. (It had looked untampered, but that tiny smirk on his godfather’s face told him he should know better.) It sounded both nothing and completely like Wolfram, in its way—a little formal, a little aggressive, and strangely polite. His thoughts wandered to what the moments before a certain blond soldier closed a bit of parchment with his family's wax seal might have looked like: Did his brother know because they had discussed it? Or did he expressly (violently) tell Conrad not to peek? Yuuri chuckled at the thought of the colorful threats Wolfram was known to dish out, his brother having learned to ignore every single one of them, dodging the ones Wolfram made good on.

The captain made no further attempt to conceal the fact that he knew the contents of the letter, though, regardless of how. “Will you be staying, then, Your Majesty?”

“Of course,” he said, not missing a beat—surprising both Conrad and himself.

The pause before the older mazoku spoke felt a little loaded. “Shall I inform Wolfram on my next visit, then?”

As if on cue, a kotsuhizoku whooshed by the window. Yuuri looked down to see some of the guards taking the flying skeletons, as well as some horses, out for light exercise. He felt his nerves trying to seize him, unbidden—but not unpleasantly.

“I think I’ll write him myself. Thanks, Conrad.”

“Very good, Your Majesty.”

\---

For all the things that Conrad was—a good captain, an excellent soldier, the honorable second son to a former queen, a terrible comedian—the one thing his king might have come close to resenting about him was that he was horrible at keeping gossip at bay.

To be fair, that wasn’t actually his job. But that didn’t stop Yuuri giving him a few healthy doses of stink-eye when one Cecilie von Spitzweg asked him at dinner that evening, without segue or indeed any shred of compunction, “Have you and my darling Wolfram settled on a date yet?”

Yuuri kept cutting into his pork chop without looking up. Yozak would’ve commended him for not flinching at the question, or giving any indication that he could feel several pairs of eyes on him, including those of the unfortunate maid who’d just arrived to refill glasses. _“Diplomacy is like a tango,”_ he remembered Gunter telling him once, _“or any dance, really, Your Majesty. Yes, there are rules and steps, but where it goes, only you and your partner can really say. And only one of you can lead.”_

A dance it was, then. He called this one the Perfect Bite.

Reach for the stewed apples. “Well, Celi—”

Take the spoon; half a beat; look up. “—we haven’t gotten to that—”

Two dollops, that’s it. “—quite yet. But—” 

Set it back down. Pick up your spork and knife. “—maybe we’ll touch on it—”

Push an apple chunk onto a bit of pork. “—once he’s back home.” And chew slowly.

They all had the nerve to look impressed, except for Murata. He just kept eating.

Celi only smiled as her two oldest sons and the royal aide gave each other looks. Yuuri already knew these looks; he used to tell Wolfram that sometimes it seemed as though the three men were trying to communicate solely with their eyebrows, and that made them laugh.

One month, he thought to himself. Then they could laugh about it again.

“So… you have been discussing it?” pressed the former Maou.

No dance this time. He figured Wolfram’s ranting and raving (“Cheater!” and “No talking to anyone good-looking!”) over the years counted enough towards discussions of marriage—at least, enough to justify the “Well, certainly,” that tumbled out of his mouth before he could think better of it. It didn’t sound like him, even to him.

Greta clapped her hands, squealing for a wedding, and everyone else turned their attention to the princess. (“Won’t you be the most adorable flower girl we’ve ever seen!” Celi exclaimed, as Gunter fussed with the girl’s hair.) Murata seemed unfazed, and Yuuri took it as a sign that they would be talking about this later in the bath before heading to their rooms.

It took the Great Sage a while before he showed up in the steam-filled room; Yuuri had started to think he’d be a prune soon when Murata dunked himself in the small pool next to his.

“’Well, certainly’? What was that about, Shibuya?” he asked, a little too gleefully.

“I mean…”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for you. It’s about time you got around to it.”

There was a pause, then a small splash—Yuuri had lowered his hand into the pool. “No matter how I look at it,” he said, so quietly that his friend almost had to strain to hear it, “it feels like I can’t avoid it.”

“There’s a small but significant difference between ‘unavoidable’ and ‘inevitable’.”

For all the beats Yuuri had hit earlier that evening, there were several he’d slipped on now. Not that it mattered. “…I think you’re right.”

“You know I’m right.”

“But we—”

“Not this gender bullshit again, Shibuya.”

“No! I mean, yes? No! …Kind of?”

“Alright,” sighed Murata, sounding resigned to the thousandth iteration of this conversation, turning in his pool to rest his chin on crossed arms. There was no hiding behind his glasses—they were way over on the bench—so Yuuri steeled himself for some harsh truths, instead of the vague hints the Sage usually graced him with.

Especially when it came to girls. No, dating. Romance? Mostly they talked about Wolfram. He still didn’t know what that implied about him.

“Alright,” his friend said, clearer, now that he was comfortable. “Let’s talk about our _feelings_.”

“I don’t pay you to be my therapist!”

“Technically, you don’t pay me at all. The state does. Now settle down or I’ll put Gunter’s shampoo on you again and really shake things up around here.”

Yuuri glared at him. No one wanted another shampoo incident, except perhaps Gunter.

“Just tell me what’s going on, Shibuya. I’m speaking as a friend here.”

It was a testament to their friendship that the young king knew that phrasing was extremely important with Murata, Sage mode or not. He didn’t demand an explanation right this second; they just needed to talk it out. Yuuri looked at his hands through the refraction of the hot water, allowing the silence to stretch, but it seemed it would never get past the point of comfort. Maybe that was a good sign; maybe the conversation wouldn’t have to get ugly.

“I… don’t want to lose Wolfram.”

“Isn’t he stationed out in the fort near Arnold? Did something happen?”

“Yes, he is, but nothing happened. I don’t think so, anyway. I… I couldn’t write a letter back to him today.”

“You never write him letters. You write, like, notes.”

“I know! I know, okay!”

Murata sank a little lower into his pool, allowing his friend to collect his thoughts.

“That… that wasn’t the first time someone’s asked me if I’ve chosen a date for the wedding. And Wolfram’s been here for those other times, too. I’ve maybe heard it phrased a hundred different ways, even. But you know what surprised me about today?”

“What?”

“I didn’t freak out.”

“Yes, you did. You did your Perfect Bi—”

“I was being _careful_. But my _insides_ weren’t freaking out.” Yuuri stood up to face the window, the water flowing easily around his waist. “Have I finally gotten used to it?”

“’Gotten used to it’? You never had any intention of dissolving the engagement. Can I ask why?”

“I guess it’s like I said. I don’t want to lose Wolfram.”

“But after your duel—”

“I don’t know, man! It was never an issue, except when it was! We’re both boys, and… but he’s pretty enough for a thousand girls, and he takes care of me, in a way? And we’re… we’re okay like this. I think. We’ve fought before, and I think I’ve gotten used to his—” Yuuri gestured wildly—“sleeping acrobatics so much that when he doesn’t sleep there, I’m more uncomfortable than when he’s got a foot in my face. And I don’t know when that happened.”

“It sounds like you want to get married,” said Murata, almost mockingly—Yuuri wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t looking for it.

“But we’re—”

“But _balls_ , Shibuya! For a progressive monarch, that’s so… ugh! This ‘both boys’ crap again, do you even hear yourself? What is it with you and anatomy? You’re looking at the rest of your life here! The rest of _von Bielefeld’s_ life!”

And there it was. It seemed he hadn’t steeled himself quite enough.

“I know you mean well. I know you. But this reads really badly. Because the way you say it, it honestly sounds like you want to string von Bielefeld along because he’s aesthetically pleasing and you get a nanny out of it.”

Oh, _Shinou_. Yuuri hadn’t thought of it like that. He looked at Murata, a little disgusted with himself. They both knew that wasn’t what he meant. Finally, his friend took pity.

“Try again, Shibuya. Take your time.”

\--- 

In the morning, Murata made his way back to Earth. Yuuri picked up a pen.


	2. moon on your shoulder

_~~My dearest Wolfram,~~ _

_~~Dear Wolfram,~~ _

_~~Heyyyyy, baby, what’s shakin’~~ _

Yuuri nearly laughed out loud, he was so bad at this. He knew it, Murata knew it, and he didn’t want to confirm it further for Wolfram. And he wasn’t going to Conrad for help with what could easily be misconstrued as a love letter. He tutted at himself and rolled his shoulders; there was no going back to _that_ version of himself, insecure and disgusting, when there was a beautiful boy waiting on the opposite tine on this fork in the road.

He was still working on the diplomacy dance. But as laid-back as his degree program on Earth was, it did prepare him to write diplomatically—if nothing else, to simply reply. So, he could start with that.

_“Dear Wolfram,_

_I am glad to hear that you’re well, in spite of the warmth. No, I do believe you; the lake should help you get used to the water. I’ve been thinking lately about taking you sailing and ~~kissing you on a boat and on the dock and on the sand”~~_

Shinou’s great _balls_ , was he screwed.

Yuuri took a deep breath and tried to start again, but Murata’s comment from the night before echoed in his mind: “You write, like, notes.” He wanted to make sure one was at least a little longer than the usual short responses he sent, but he was too jittery and new to these feelings to really say much of anything. 

The rest of the conversation the previous evening had revealed much to him in that the strange circumstances of his life thus far had created extraordinary opportunities for him, but in the beginning—and too often since—he had handled them much like he had handled his very ordinary life on Earth. He got handed something, then coasted, then whined about how things could be, should be different.

“I think you secretly enjoy these questions,” Murata had said, without even a hint of humor, “because you get to imagine it all in your head without actually committing to any plans.”

Yuuri wanted to turn around and shout, wanted to get angry, wanted to say _how dare you accuse me of not loving him enough to—_

He choked it back; clenched his fist.

It wasn’t until a few months into his reign as Demon King that he realized that he had the kind of power that most people his age—and much older—could only dream of. Regardless of its magnitude, it meant that there were things, very serious things, he could do something about.

And in all that time, he had never given dissolving the engagement any serious thought. Then again, he had never quite wrapped his head around the betrothal to begin with.

But he had now; he’d finally been hit with the choice he was making by not making a choice—and all the awful weight it put on other people. And all he could say about it in the baths was, “I can’t wait for him to come home. That’s all I really know for sure.”

Murata had smiled—not the teasing smirk he usually had on his face when Yuuri was confused about the beautiful mazoku, but one of a quiet, glowing pride. He already knew what his friend wasn’t saying. ‘Finally,’ he thought. “That’s good enough, Shibuya.”

“What now?”

“You tell him as much.”

Yuuri sighed. The Sage made it sound so damn simple. And maybe it was.

_“Dear Wolfram,_

_I am glad to hear that you are well, regardless of the weather. Yes, everyone here is fine. No, I do believe you; the lake should help you get used to the water. Perhaps one day we might even go sailing. But for now, and for however long you wish, I would be content to sit on the beach with you and watch the boats go by.”_

He fought the urge to add something saccharine about a sunset or holding hands.

_“I will, of course, do my level best to remain here at Blood Pledge and meet you upon your return. I look forward to seeing you._

_Come home in one piece, please,_

_Yuuri”_

He could write a love letter. And if his new plan with Murata worked, he would write a thousand love letters, or however many Wolfram wanted—he’d write them for the rest of his life.

\---

Murata walked through the narrow hall from the anteroom of the restaurant, taking in the tidy shine of the wood, emphasized by the little lights in the recessed shelving. He adjusted his tie before continuing into the private dining area. He could hear the faint but rough sound of fresh Japanese horseradish being ground up—the trip down to Ginza seemed more than worth it already.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Bob,” he said as he made the turn.

Earth’s Maou lowered his shades. “You’ve gotten taller.”

“Thanks?”

Bob gestured to the bar stool next to him, then signaled to the chef to start on the nigiri courses. “Now. What was this about a… _Vegas_ wedding?”

The younger man adjusted his glasses, barely hiding a smirk as he recalled what he and Yuuri had decided on. “That’s exactly right. State weddings take too long to plan.”

Bob hummed before he was handed his share of maguro. “But why Vegas?”

“Is the city that never sleeps, the marriage and entertainment capital of the world, not fitting for two young noble mazoku?” Murata knew he had slipped by answering a question with a question. They both knew it.

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

“I guess I can’t pull a fast one on you.”

Bob hummed again, this time with something as close to a smile as the Sage would get. He went on to explain that Yuuri simply did not want the trouble of a state wedding—at least, not yet—and after all, wasn’t there a certain amount of romance in running away to get married?

Another hum. Bob concluded, not for the first time, that he would never understand young people.He picks up and swirls his sake glass. “So you’ll be needing the correct paperwork, of course. The legal stuff.”

“Yes,” says Murata with a relieved smile. “It shouldn’t set us back by much. It’s less than a day to process legally and, what, less than a hundred dollars?”

Bob smirks and tips back his drink. “It’s the IDs that’ll be a bitch. Not my problem, though.”

\--- 

Conrad did not like what he was seeing—not one bit—but he’s a good soldier, and more importantly, Yuuri trusts him. So he says nothing. 

In fact, there are many things he doesn’t say out loud: what he really thinks of Mother’s latest beau; Gwendal may or may not have been short with him too often this week; the way Yozak looks in a maid’s outfit makes him feel; how he squints, internally, at the ever-blurring line in the sand between his loyalty to his sovereign and his love for his baby brother. 

Wolfram’s not a baby anymore, and hasn’t been for decades, but he supposes he can relate to the way Gwendal feels about them both—'I helped raise him,' he thinks, 'so he’s as much my baby as it’s possible to be.' 

Gunter had once proposed that it was jealousy, and Conrad’s enough of a man to admit that there had been one or two times when he’d wished Yuuri had been older—he’s disciplined, not _blind_ —if only to make things around the castle less complicated. But most people wanted Yuuri because of what he was capable of, at least at first; Wolfram, for all that he would deny it, liked him when he hadn’t proved himself to be anything yet. 

Then he’d gotten absolutely _waterlogged_ the next day, and yet no person or event since could quench the fire within. Conrad had seen it before, in Wolfram’s father, before Mother was widowed the third time. It was rare; it was precious. No wish for something simpler could override, least of all from a mere captain. 

But among the things he comes close to saying to Yuuri— _your pitch doesn’t have enough follow-through, your signals are sloppy, you’re giving Lady Somebody the wrong idea_ —the thing that comes closest is, “You are absolutely not whisking my little brother off to a fake wedding."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little short; I couldn't help but feel that this was all there was to the chapter, though. Thanks for sticking with me!


End file.
